‘We have to,’ Daphne replies.
They stay like that for a while longer, then break apart so they can tend to Hector and whatever else comes their way today.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
‘You’re sure you’re all right here?’ Margot moves more cushions behind Lavinia’s back.
‘I have a broken leg, not a broken brain,’ Lavinia says, somewhat tersely for her.
For an instant Margot is offended, then she pauses to consider that her aunt isn’t used to being infirm. Elderly, yes, but infirmity is a different state, and Lavinia has always moved about this house freely.
After she spent a week at the hotel at Cremorne – with Margot there most of the time to keep her company – they realised it was going to be impossible to make it easier for her to get up to the next floor.
That is, Stephen realised it. Margot kept wondering about railings up the stairs, even suggesting some kind of pulley system, which was as fanciful as it was impractical.
‘I admire your ingenuity,’ Stephen said kindly, ‘but the house isn’t ready for a pulley.’
The only solution was for Lavinia to sleep on the ground floor while her leg healed. As the house had originally been built with a single storey, there was a bathroom there, along with the kitchen and living areas.
The original two small bedrooms had been combined into one large dining room at the time the second storey went on, when Margot’s brothers were small, and all the bedrooms were placed upstairs. So it’s the dining room that has become Lavinia’s room, with Stephen’s moving men bringing Lavinia’s bed from upstairs.
Lavinia grumbled again about not wanting to sleep near the food, but it was less forceful than the first time, and she’s been sleeping comfortably in the dining room. And she’s able to move around well enough to make her lunch and go to the loo without Margot hovering – an activity neither one of them had liked.
‘I’m not going to fall into the thing!’ Lavinia had said the first time her niece waited outside the toilet door.
Margot had been unconvinced so she’d kept hovering, but she recognised that it was undignified for Lavinia to have to be monitored.
Now that Lavinia is vaguely independent, Margot can leave her for an hour or two. So Stephen suggested an afternoon-tea picnic at Balmoral Beach, and Margot’s making sure Lavinia is comfortable on the couch before she goes.
‘Yes, your brain is perfectly fine,’ Margot says in answer to her aunt’s protest, moving some books to the coffee table in front of the couch. ‘I just want to make sure the rest of you is too.’
Lavinia inhales noisily. ‘I’m being difficult, aren’t I.’
Margot smiles tightly. ‘You’re allowed. Shall I put the wireless on to 2MBS?’
Lavinia nods her consent; she likes to listen to the local classical music station.
A few minutes later Stephen knocks at the door, then he drives Margot the short distance over the hill and down to the beach.
The day is mild for late February, and as it’s a Friday afternoon, not a weekend, there aren’t too many people around.
Stephen spreads a rug near the Rotunda, a local landmark that is surrounded by grass and overlooks the small island that separates Balmoral Beach from Edwards Beach immediately next to it. From here they have a view to the east, where HMASPenguinis situated, and across to Grotto Point Lighthouse on Dobroyd Head.
It is truly one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and Margot hasn’t been here for years. She feels shame about this – she could have caught the bus here from the junction. Why has she waited so long?
As Stephen deposits a picnic basket on the rug the answer is clear: she didn’t want to come alone. She wanted to be here to enjoy food and company with someone who cares for her. Someone she cares for.
It has seemed like too much to ask for, and now that it’s happening she feels a tide of regret rolling in for the years she has lost, then an undertow of irritation with herself for indulging the regret.
‘It’s magic, isn’t it?’ Stephen says, smiling and gazing around them. ‘Sometimes I forget it’s here, but as soon as I come, it’s clear that I should be returning as often as possible.’
Margot quietly gasps as he extricates a thermos and cups and saucers, and biscuits and small cakes from the basket.
‘All this!’ she exclaims. ‘Who put it together for you?’
He gives her a funny look. ‘I did.’
She laughs nervously. ‘I’m sorry. My father would never have done anything like this.’